Depot 37
Coronet City
Corellia
The duracrete in the back corner of the docking yards was cracked and worn. An incessant drizzle formed murky, miniature streams through which flowed the oily, tepid runoff of the depot. Hagar turned her head up, breathing in deeply the exhaust and the fresh damp of the storm. It was not home yet, but it could be. Whatever that meant.
The long honking of a speeder horn rudely interrupted the moment. Glaring at the driver, Hagar shuffled out of the middle of the lane. At the very least, he could have offered her a ride. Budget space lines didn’t offer shuttles to any hotels. Her ticket had also neglected to inform her that she was a good several miles from any amenities. Typically, the walk would have been a non-issue, but her heavy suitcase and pure exhaustion disinclined her. Naturally, she had also been dropped off in a cargo depot, devoid of any covered waiting areas or amicable hostesses. The only living beings around were gruff dock workers who had no interest in chauffeuring a young woman to her hotel. To be entirely fair, they likely were not paid enough to care about any straggling travelers that came their way. Hagar certainly wouldn’t.
The girl took off her hat and shook water from the brim. It was getting increasingly worn around the edges and some of the rain had soaked in, making the leather swell slightly. She would need to repair those edges later. Her hat was her beloved (and her only) traveling companion, not to mention, it’s practicality would lessen significantly if it couldn’t keep her head dry. Later perhaps, when she had a roof over her head. At the moment, both she and her hat would have to rough it out while she waited for a ride. Sighing, Hagar stuck her thumb out. Anytime now.